


My Mirror Speaks

by bannanachan



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1441492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bannanachan/pseuds/bannanachan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of the 12th prince who grew up to be an emperor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Mirror Speaks

The first time anyone tries to kill him, he’s four. And he doesn’t actually remember it that well, because he was four, and he was shielded from it for the most part: that time it was just a bandit who was hired by his next-oldest brother’s mother, and they weren’t very well-trained and they didn’t even make it to his nursery before getting chased away. He wouldn’t have even known about it if they hadn’t told him the next morning, his mother’s voice wavering a little and his uncle’s resonating with command that _This will happen again_ and _You’ll need to be prepared_ and _You’ll start training promptly this evening_ , and he’s scared, but not of the burglar.

That evening, his mother walks him to a room he doesn’t recognize where there were a few weapons in racks and a man with white hair. The man is nice, and it makes him less scared. He doesn’t get to use any of the weapons, but he does get to learn some things, and it’s kind of fun, or it would be if his mother wasn’t standing there clutching her sleeve in her hand. When he asks her what’s wrong, she smiles and tells him nothing, but her voice is trembling like she’s about to cry.

He decides that he doesn’t want to learn any more things, if it makes her sad, and he tells his uncle as much, but his uncle yells at him and tells him to go back anyway. He’s sad, but he does. At least the man there is nice.

***

When he is five, it happens again. Well, it might have happened in the mean time – it probably did, realistically speaking, but he didn’t hear about any of those times. This time is much scarier. This time, he wakes up in the middle of the night and his mother is there with her hand over his mouth, shushing him, and he almost attacks her he’s so surprised. She scoops him up in her robes and they leave his bedroom and go to hers. He’s too tired to ask what’s happening, so he just follows her and lays with her in her bed while she strokes his hair, her hands shaking.

He wakes up earlier than her the next morning and wanders towards his bedroom to get dressed. He opens the door, and the floor has blood on it. He follows it along in drips and smears until his eyes set upon his bed, and there’s blood all over it and a body about his size curled up inside it, and he screams.

It turns out that one of their new guards was a hired assassin sent by his eldest sister. His mother had seen him talking with one of her men at the edge of some woods. She hadn’t had time to alert the other guards. She had wondered if they were in on it too. She hadn’t been thinking straight. So she’d ordered her servant to have her son sleep in Ling’s bedroom that night.

He meets the woman the day after, still shaken, clinging to his mother’s robes as they stand in the central hall. She bows to him, and voice trembling, she whispers her gratitude to Ling and to the Yao family for allowing her son’s life to be of good use. It is the first time he understands that some lives are more valuable than others, or that his is one of them. He’s not sure he likes the idea.

***

When he is six, he meets Lan Fan.

He thinks he has glimpsed her, at least, before. She’s his age, and there’s not that many kids his age in the compound, and he keeps track of them when he sees one. But he’s never really spoken to her before she gets assigned as his vassal.

He has had lots of guards, and lots of servants, but Lan Fan is different, because she's his clansman and serving him of her own volition. She’s still his subordinate, but she isn’t a stranger like his guards are. And she won’t leave him. Not ever.

He likes Lan Fan. She blushes a lot when he talks to her, and he wishes she’d be more friendly, but it doesn’t bug him that much. At least he has something resembling a friend. And she’s really good at fighting, way better than he is. She says her grandfather’s been teaching her since earlier than he started learning, which seems almost impossible, but when he sees her training he believes it. He meets her grandfather too, and he likes him even better. He’s the first adult he’s ever met who doesn’t treat him like a kid.

She moves into a room close to his in the palace, and comes in to check on him every night before he goes to sleep. None of his other guards were ever this friendly before. He wonders if maybe that’s what her being his clansman means. He asks his mother about it, and she explains that that’s not quite it. Actually, she says, all of the people living there are his clansmen: some of them just have less status than Lan Fan and her granddad.

He doesn’t understand it. If he’s the prince, and that means he has more power, shouldn’t he be the one serving them?

***

When he is seven, he fights an assassin off on his own for the first time.

They come in the middle of the night, as usual. But this time, it happens so quickly, and so smoothly, that there’s no one there to stop them ahead of time: they just slip into his bedroom in the quiet and start to strangle him in his sleep. But he wakes up when he realizes he can’t breathe.

It’s more instinct than intention. Swinging an arm out from his shoulder to strike his wrist on the side, kicking a knee up into his abdomen. Rolling out of his grip when it’s shaken to the floor and then going back at it, strike right, dodge, kick, fall – he has a knife, Ling hasn’t fought against knives, it’s against his neck and he can feel the blade and he gets up a hand to knock it away but it leaves a cut on his chin, he scrambles to his feet and dives for the knife but the assassin gets there first and – 

and Lan Fan is there and she has a sword, she has a sword and she hauls him off Ling and parry strike strike parry dodge and she stabs him in the heart, and he bleeds out on the floor of Ling’s bedroom.

Later, his mother cries and his uncle admonishes her. Fu and his teacher say that he did well. Lan Fan apologizes for not arriving earlier. At least half the guards get laid off for not intercepting them earlier.

Nobody really thinks to ask if he’s okay.

(They came from his oldest brother this time, the first one in line for the throne. He’s thirteenth. Why bother? And if they do, what about the others behind him?

What about the ones who don’t have guards?)

***

He is nine before anyone tries it again.

He’s pretty sure it was Lan Fan who scared them off, not him. Either that, or they just had bigger fish to fry: probably the latter, to be honest. He’s sure they’ve seen more impressive stuff than a seven-year-old with a sword, even if she was fielding someone who highly trained.

This time, though, he fights them himself.

He’s ready, this time. It’s been two years, but he’s been training. Last time was too close, too frightening – he’s got to be ready, he’s always got to be ready. He knows they’re coming before they come, tucks a pillow into his covers and hides in the corner. He doesn’t tell his mother, or his uncle, or Lan Fan, or Fu. He wants to do it himself.

It’s a woman. She slips into his room not too long after sunset and walks up to the bed, footsteps carefully silent. She doesn’t see him, and a jolt of adrenaline goes through his veins. She gets close to the bed. He leaves the corner and takes a sliding step closer.

She jacks a sharp knife into the pillow and twists, but stops halfway through the gesture. It’s too light, not enough resistance, she can tell. She flips the knife up and into her hand and starts to turn around. He moves.

It’s a struggle for a second, because he starts too late and he makes too much noise and she sees him. There goes the element of surprise, but oh well; she strikes with the knife from above and he parries her wrist away, gets in close to her body and strikes her chest. She turns the knife back, he ducks, she hits nothing, he gets behind her and attacks again. He’s smaller than her. She’s not used to fighting children, she’s aiming a little too high, it puts her at a disadvantage so strike kick dodge turn strike he gets the knife out of her hands and takes it in his and she’s on the ground and it’s at her throat and her arms go up, I surrender.

Lan Fan bursts into the room less than a second later, two older guards following her.

“Master Ling –”

He holds out his spare hand. They shut up.

He turns his attention back to the assassin, holding his head high and his knife and voice steady.

“Who sent you?” He asks.

She pants. “I am sworn to secrecy.”

He cocks the knife a little. She winces. “Tell me.” He says.

She scoffs. “Fool. It’s not as if my answer will change my fate. Why should I betray my master when you’re going to kill me anyway?”

He frowns. “I’m not going to kill you either way. I’m the prince. You can trust me.”

“Fool. You’re the last one I can trust.”

“Are you going to tell me or not?”

She hesitates for a second. She opens her mouth.

Before she can speak, another four guards have charged into his room. Lan Fan and the others scatter to the side; before he knows what’s happening, they’re by his side, hauling him away from the assassin and tugging her out of the room, and his mother is there embracing him and crying. She’s blocking his view. He doesn’t know what happens after that.

His uncle summons him to the main hall the following day and tells him that she was sent by his younger brother.

His younger brother is five.

“What happened to the assassin?” He asks.

His uncle frowns. “She was executed. Of course.”

He feels his heart drop into the pit of his stomach, and his intestines twist around it. “I told her that she’d be forgiven if she confessed. I told her she could trust me, Lan Fan heard me. I’m the prince. I should have been consulted.”

His uncle scoffs. “What you are is a child. When you are old enough, Prince Ling, I will consult you on these matters. But not now.”

His blood is boiling. He wants to scream, or attack him, or run, or do something. He’s the prince, he’s in charge here. There has to be something he can do. He’s the prince. He has power, he has to. If he doesn’t, what’s the point?

He walks out of the room steaming. He’s starting to understand why everyone wants to kill him so much.

***

When he is ten, his uncle sends an assassin after his newest sibling three months after her birth.

She survives it, luckily. She shouldn’t have: the man he sends is skilled, and his sister is far enough down the line that she doesn’t have many guards. What she does have, it turns out, is a very well-trained half brother swordsman, (not on his side, obviously).

He hears about it secondhand, from a servant who heard it from one of her servants.

“I thought I should bring this directly to you, young lord.”

He nods. “You thought well. Thank you for your loyalty, clansman.”

The servant starts at that, then looks back down at the ground. “It is nothing, master. There is no need to thank me for doing my duty to your household.”

Ling frowns. His servants never liked him treating them like family. He’d been told when he was younger that it wasn’t appropriate for servants, but that seemed wrong. They lived in his palace, that made them his clan, and his family. He didn’t care how much they were supposed to be worth.

Besides, this man had told him the truth. That made him worth a lot more than some people he could name.

He storms into his uncle’s chambers, the surrounding guards bowing hastily and stumbling out of his way as he approaches.

His uncle looks up and back at Ling at the sound of the door sliding and frowns.

“My prince. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. What’s wrong?”

“You tried to have my sister killed.”

His uncle stops dead. He puts his pen down and turns back to Ling.

“I wasn’t aware I had only tried.” He says.

His blood boils.

“I asked you to consult me.” He says. “I’ve ordered you. I’ve tried to be in charge here, I’ve tried to be the prince you always told me to be. But you never let me. You never ask me. You make decisions on the behalf of my clan without asking my permission. You sent an assassin after an infant under my name.”

His uncle relaxes into his chair and sighs. “I understand your frustration, young lord. But as I’ve told you plenty of times, all that I do I do, I do for you and for our clan. With all due respect, my prince, you too are an infant.”

“Not any more, uncle.”

His uncle smirks in response. “Well, maybe so, but even so, you’re young. I ordered that assassination for the good of your clan. If you’re not prepared to make those kinds of decisions, you’re not prepared to lead your people. Besides, what would you do to stop me?”

He’s scared. He’s so scared he can feel his legs shaking. He can’t do this: his uncle is right, he’s too young, he’s not commanding enough, he’s not ready enough, he might be the prince but that doesn’t really mean anything next to real power like his uncle has except –

Except it has to.

“I’ll exile you.” Ling says.

For a split second, his uncle blanches. But he recovers quick. “Exile me? My prince, I am your servant. You have no need to exile me, it wouldn’t serve you. Besides, I don’t see how you would. I command these guards, young lord, not you.”

He’s so scared.

He doesn’t waver.

“I’m the prince, uncle. This is my clan and my palace, and it is my decision to make. These are my men to command. I have allowed you to assume responsibility for that task because I trusted you, but that’s over now. If you give one more order to anyone in this house, I’ll send you away, and I won’t let you back. I am a prince no matter your words. You cannot order that away.”

His uncle doesn’t say anything. He just looks at the guards. Ling winces. Of course he’d call his bluff – this was never going to work, it was risky from the start and it was rash of him to even attempt it. He was ten, he wasn’t ready for this.

He follows his uncle’s gaze to the guards. But the guards aren’t looking back at him.

His uncle doesn’t bother him after that. He doesn’t exile him; he doesn’t need to. The way those men looked, it was clear that the next order that came from his mouth would have been the last words he ever spoke.

He still doesn’t think that it makes any sense for some people to be more important than others. But it doesn’t matter, because they are. He’s a prince; he didn’t ask to be, and he’s not sure he wants to be, but he is. He has a duty to do. He has power.

He can protect people with that.

***

When he is twelve, his ranking in the succession order goes from thirteen to twelve.

It’s a surprise to everyone, actually. Xingese princes and princesses trade assassination attempts like collectibles, and they’re successful as often as they are not, but it’s usually younger ones: people like his little sister, like what happened when he was five, and it barely matters anyway when the king sires a new heir every few months. This time’s different. This time they’re older: they’re fifteen. They’re fourth in line. Or they were, he guesses.

There’s a small funeral, but it’s pretty much just her clansmen. He finds himself feeling that he should have been there. He was her brother, and she died: he should be there. But the reality is he barely knew her. And the truth is he’s not really thinking about her at all.

All these years, and it never really occurred to him before how easily he could end up dead. All that time. How much of his living this long had just been luck?

And he wants to protect his clan, but he’s only twelve, and mostly, he just doesn’t want to die.

He starts to make himself scarce around the compound. Things mostly run themselves, anyway. He misses his lessons. He asks his mother to tell his teachers he’s too sick to leave his room. She tries to talk to him, and comfort him, and tell him it’s going to be all right, but he doesn’t really believe her – he knows the truth by now and he knows she’s lying, and the fact that she’s his mother doesn’t mean anything. It never has, anyway; why would it start now?

Mostly he wanders through the grounds outdoors. It’s not that hard: he’s been training not to be noticed all his life, after all. He thinks Fu would be proud, if he wasn’t sure he was too busy being worriedHe starts to watch people. He never really had the chance to do that before now, just watch people in the compound – his people, his compound. Even after claiming his autonomy from his uncle, he’d been living his life as a prince, always with a guard between him and the world, and with something else he couldn’t define between him and the guards. Where he wasn’t, life was: husbands and wives and a few other children. Sisters and brothers who talked to each other. People celebrating things, mourning things, making things.

What would happen to these people, if he died?

One night, he is sneaking back to his room when someone walks straight into his path and blocks his way. His body tenses immediately and he’s halfway through drawing a sword when he realizes it’s Lan Fan. He relaxes, then sighs. He hasn’t seen her in three days – she was bound to come looking eventually.

Still, he might as well make her say it.

“What are you doing out here, Lan Fan?”

“Looking for you, young lord.”

“Well, you found me. And I’m safe, as you can see. May I go to my bed now?”

“I thought you were supposed to be in your bed already, young lord.”

Oops.

“I was on a short walk –”

“You don’t have to lie to me, my prince. I won’t tell.”

He stops short. She takes a step closer, and he can see her face in the moonlight. She doesn’t look mad.

He wanders over to a small wall and sits down on it, leaning back on his palms. “… I’m sorry.”

She walks over to sit beside him and puts her hands in her lap. She’s silent for a minute like she’s waiting for permission, but when she realizes she’s not getting it, she speaks up.

“Please tell me what’s wrong, young lord.”

He thinks for a second, looking up at the stars to avoid her face. “Lan Fan,” he says, “what would happen to you and your grandfather if I were killed?”

She waits a second, thinking it through. “I would try to find out who was responsible for your death.” She says. “So I could avenge you. I imagine my grandfather would do the same.”

His heart nearly stops.

“Lan Fan, no.” He insists. “You would die, you know that? I know you’re both strong, but you’re… you’re not that strong! You can’t take on an entire compound by yourself!”

She hesitates again. “We… we wouldn’t intend to return, young lord.” 

He wants to scream.

“Why?” He asks. “Why?! Just because I died, that doesn’t mean… you don’t have to do that, you don’t have to think like that, you don’t have to live just for me. I don’t want you to live for me, do you understand? I want you to live to live. I want you to be happy, no matter what happens to me.”

“Then allow me to die for you.” She insists, barely letting him finish. “If you wish for my happiness, prince, allow me to do that, for I would not be happy living if I had failed in my duty to you.”

And that shuts him up, at least for a minute.

“… What about everyone else?” He asks.

And she pauses again, and she know what she’s about to say, he’s sure she does, but she keeps hesitating, like she’s scared to say it to his face, she’s protecting him again but he’s too old for that. These are his people, everyone says these are his people, everyone tells him to take responsibility but they never really let him no matter how many times it happens.

“The compound would be disbanded.” She says. “Your mother would probably be able to return to the imperial palace. As for the other people here… I do not know.”

“What happens to the other clans?” He asks.

“… I do not know.”

She doesn’t need to say it. He knows it. If you’re not inside a compound, you’re on the street. He’s seen those people – he’s not too sheltered for that, or too sheltered to know what happens to them. It’s possible, even likely, that some of his people would find new homes… but not all of them.

And it’s not just them. His sister’s clansmen, too, the one that died – and all the other ones that died, the younger ones, the poorer ones, the ones that barely count for anything and they’re barely even living inside walls as it is. The whole country was full of people like that, people not being protected or cared for or loved or fed or warmed, and none of it was changing, none of it had changed since the moment he was born. And no one cared. Someone had to start caring. Someone with the power to change it.

He didn’t have the power for that right now, but maybe…

It was his turn to hesitate, but when he spoke, his voice rang clear.

“Lan Fan.” He says. “If I decided to become the emperor of this country, would you and Fu follow me?”

He can tell she’s taken aback by the question, but she barely waits a second before replying. “Until our deaths, young lord.” She says solemnly.

After that, he doesn’t worry that much about dying.

***

When he is fourteen, his father announces he is dying.

There’s nothing personal about it. He feels like it should be more personal somehow, a father telling his children that he’s dying, but there’s 32 of them and he announces it en masse. Nothing really emotional, either.

He was coughing into his hands, his voice and body trembling. “Find me immortality, and you shall rule this land. There is no other consequence. Bring me eternal life, and all the riches in the world will be yours.”

It was maybe the dozenth time in his life he’d seen the man, if he was counting right. He’d been to celebrations at the palace since he was old enough to go, but they’d never interacted beyond pleasantries. He wasn’t sure he’d seen any of his siblings interact with him beyond that, even his eldest brother. Just his mother, and their mothers, and even then it didn’t seem genuine. When Ling was younger, he’d just thought of him as old and not making a lot of sense. Certainly never like a father, not like Fu, or like his uncle.

He’s surprised how fine his mother seems to be with it. Well, not that surprised (she’s twelve of fifty after all), but her relationship with his father has probably been the most stable thing in her entire life – why the smile?

He asks her, and she smiles again when she answers.

“Because it means you can be the emperor instead, my son.”

It’s so much more real than it was before, all at once. He could be emperor – and everyone’s saying it, not just him and Fu and Lan Fan in hushed voices and meaningful silences. Even his uncle congratulates him, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

For a few weeks afterwards, there’s no assassination attempts. He’s sure he’s not the only one it comes as a surprise to, even though it makes sense. The succession order’s out the window, so it’s only a matter of picking off the competition at random, and they’ve all got bigger fish to fry, because really – immortality? Did that even exist?

The answer to that, it turned out, depended on who you asked. He is surprised when he finds out that his eldest 2 brothers and his eldest sister have responded to the news about their father by doing absolutely nothing.

“They don’t believe it exists.” Fu says. “A waste of their time and resources. They intend to wait it out until he dies and ascend to the throne by default.”

“What about the younger two?”

“I’m sure I don’t have to answer that for you, young lord.”

You’re silent. He’s right, of course, but you really would rather not dwell on it.

Fu deflects the topic slightly so you don’t have to. “It won’t be long before the assassinations start again. Whatever it is that’s become of the ascension order, the real competition has only begun.”

“Do you think it’s real?” Ling asks. “Immortality, I mean.”

“There have been tales of it since I was younger than you. Since before my birth.”

“But do you think it’s real.”

Fu sighs quietly. “I think the emperor is a fool. If it is real, it is a well-kept secret, to have been searched for by some men all their lives and never found. Your siblings are powerful, but it takes more than power to find such a prize.”

“What about me?”

He smirks at that. Fu barely smiles when he smiles, just a twitch in his mustache that’s hard to catch, but Ling knows it as well as anything.

“If you pursue this path, young lord, I will follow you. As in all things.”

Honestly, he doesn’t think it exists. Fu is right. Years of mankind questing for immortality will not end just because an emperor commanded it, no matter how powerful those he commanded are. But he is the twelfth prince. He can’t do this any more, dodging his siblings knives in the dark and never tossing his own back on the grounds of morality. Wondering what will become of his people if one day, he doesn’t dodge fast enough. Wondering which of his brothers will dodge too late next. It can’t go on.

Immortality might be a lie, but it’s a better goal than he’s ever had before.

***

The Chang girl beats him to the punch by a few hours. He hears news that she has left for the West the morning of the day that he is to do the same, from a guard who doesn’t know. No one knows actually, besides him and Fu and Lan Fan. He trusts his people, but the less the possibility that his siblings will find out where he’s headed, the better. Assassination attempts had begun again a little less than a month after his father’s announcement, no surprise, and he couldn’t stand the thought of losing everything now, when he was finally close; better to lay low.

He can almost hear Lan Fan growl when he tells her that May has already left, and she glances one of her hands over her knife absent mindedly. “That child should learn not to be so hasty.” She mutters.

Ling laughs. “We should all be so wise, then. Come on, Lan Fan, slow and steady never really won the race.”

She opens her mouth in defense and closes it. I’m not a child, she nearly said it, but even she’s not that dense. Of course they’re children; that’s exactly why they’re here.

Most of his siblings, the ones that were leaving at all, had left by then. But as far as he’d heard, none of them were planning to leave the country. Whatever the legends might say, the trek West was long and dangerous, and not everyone was equipped for it; and not everyone who was was interested. Nationalism, not surprisingly, ran strong in the royal bloodline. And really, who believed those legends anyway? Not Ling, or Fu. Yet here they were.

They leave at twilight, sky painting the road pink and orange beneath their feet. He is transfixed staring at it, almost tripping on his own feet.

For one last moment, he doubts himself. Did the sun set like this in Amestris? What was he expecting to find there? And if he didn’t – or if he did – would he ever see the sun set like this in Xing again? What if he failed – what if he died? He had avoided it so many times, and he had a feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that he was running out of luck. That this could be for naught, that he could fail. Determination be damned, no one can just save a country by willing it.

“Ling?”

He turns around. His mother lingers at the gate. She must have slipped out while they weren’t looking.

Lan Fan and Fu look at him and then retreat into the shadows wordlessly.

“Mother.” Ling says. “What are you doing out?”

“You’re leaving. Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t hesitate this time. “Yes. I am.”

She smiles. “I thought you might be.”

“You will be all right.” He assures her. “I have left orders in writing for the care of the household to be turned over to you temporarily beginning… as soon as everyone realizes I’m not there to do it, I suppose.”

“That wasn’t what I came to hear, young prince.”

“I will be all right as well.” He replies. “I have Fu and Lan Fan with me. They will guard me. I will come back for you, mother, I promise. I will come back for this whole country. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t be going.”

She laughs. “Thank you for the assurance, but that wasn’t what I wanted to hear either.”

“Then what?”

The light hits her face in the sunset, and he notices that there are tears in her eyes, and rolling down her cheeks.

“Tell me you love me.” She says. “Please. Just… tell me.”

His stern expression melts in an instant. He crosses the distance between them and wraps her in his arms.

“I love you.”

Her tears wet his shirt, and she pulls herself away, wiping at them with her sleeves. She smiles up at him, and whatever was left of his doubt fades away.

“Journey safe, my son, and let my love journey with you.” She says. “Do not come back until you can claim this whole country as your own.”

He turns from her before he can convince himself not to and begins to walk. He feels Lan Fan’s hand slip into his before he can see her, and he holds his head up high.

**Author's Note:**

> I really wasn't kidding about the backlog of fic. Anyway, this is the last one, so. And hey, it's not Homestuck!
> 
> My girlfriend watched FMA: Brotherhood last winter break and I re-watched it with her and I had a lot of emotions about things, in particular about Ling Yao, and then this happened. My sincere apologies for the cheesy ending. Thank you to [Ota](otomatonom.tumblr.com) and [Blooper](blooper-boy) for beta'ing for me.
> 
> Title is from "My Mirror Speaks" by Death Cab for Cutie.


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